notes from October ii

you’re a liar  

(at least all of your friends are)

at the football game, you sat with me.

Griffith Fridays, dim 

booths, blonde hair.

from the top of Mulholland,

we watched the valley curve

inward.

it’s so childish, it’s so dumb, really.

what did we love about October? 

how fun it felt, 

dressing up in my room, 

spinning disco lights, 

hot air, late 

evenings

winding sidewalks down

the Hollywood Hills, 

cigarette-smelling concrete, 

sleeping on floors

wandering ten p.m.

Studio City streets.

80 mph in a black Subaru, 

blinding

strobe lights,

tall palm trees.

(everywhere you weren’t) 

running, screaming, 

dancing in mazes 

with all the monsters

cold pizza, crying on top

of kitchen islands, 

throwing up in the sink,

passing out on the rug 

or the floor,

walking to In-N-Out 

crashing out on the lawn 

ditching school for coffee,

wet mascara in the CPK, 

waiting for an Uber on the curb 

(they never turn on all the lights

in his house)

he cries on the guest bed—I don’t love him

but I love you, my In-N-Out burger 

yes, yes. no, 

i’m not a writer, not really

i only think of these Octobers in la

if it isn’t clear.

do you wanna dance? 

—in the bar at the back of the hall?